Good Enough
by Zero.Elektronik
Summary: This wasn't who Kyle wanted - but he was good enough.


**Done for the 100 theme challenge.**

**Warning: Slash**

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**The next thing Kyle Broflovski knew, he was being pressed into the toilet cubicle wall, rough hands over his skin and a tongue invading his mouth (not that he minded), warmth and friction from another body pressed close to his. He was too wrapped up in the moment to realise this wasn't who he wanted.

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It'd been a long day. All through class he'd had to listen to his best friend and ex-boyfriend, Stan Marsh, rant about his on and off girlfriend, Wendy. Listen to Stan compliment and talk smitten gibberish about Wendy. Listen to Stan worry about his relationship, with Wendy. He couldn't tell him to shut up though, he was his best friend after all and unwillingly he'd listen to the boy he still wasn't quite over talk about the love of his life (according to Stan) even though Kyle knew full well they'd have broken up again next week. He loved the way Stan looked talking about her though, so happy and blissful - as if nothing could possibly ruin his good mood. He entertained the idea that Stan had looked like that when talking about Kyle, but quickly dismissed it. He was so innocent and sweet, he wouldn't actually harm a fly, come to think of it. His smile, though Kyle loved it, always made him wonder - it was always so cheesy and attractive, but something that could easily be faked. After so many months, Kyle had stopped noticing the shine in Stan's hair, and how soft it was to run his hands through, stopped noticing his soft brown eyes, stopped noticing his pale skin that was always so warm to touch. It'd taken a long time, but he'd gotten over it. He'd always go to watch Stan play in his matches, in whatever sport Randy had made him take up, cheering him along and being there to hug him a little too long when he'd won. He didn't do it as much anymore, but he didn't want Stan to look at him mid-game, and give him that smile that'd make he re-think if he was really over him, before continuing to play. Kyle must have decided he was over him, otherwise he wouldn't be feeling like this towards someone else.

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During dinner, he'd made a quick stop home only to find his newest co-worker (he'd like to say friend, but it was a fucked up friendship) sitting on his bed. This, too, was one of Kyle's ex-boyfriends, Christophe DeLorne, who had decided to visit him during his break and tell him about his new job that was coming up, and then rant about his boyfriend, Gregory. He'd throw in the occasional comment about Gregory to try and make Kyle jealous - which worked sometimes, though he didn't like to admit it. He couldn't tell the Frenchman to shut up though; he was technically one of his bosses and could kill him in a matter of seconds if he wanted, so unwillingly he listened. He hated the way Christophe looked so angry whilst discussing what Kyle knew was probably the love of his life (though Christophe would never say that), even though he knew the mercenary would probably have cheated on him next week. He always spoke with furrowed, thick brows and said each name as if it was dirt in his mouth. Kyle wondered, briefly, if he'd looked like that whilst talking about him. It had taken a while, but Kyle had stopped noticing the dirt in Christophe's dark hair, stopped noticing how rough his tanned, scarred skin was on his own, how dark and menacing his eyes were. He was over it, he was sure of it. He'd always watch him on his missions, helping him through the headset and computer to make sure he wouldn't mess up. Trying not to let his heart flutter a tiny bit when Christophe would call him "mon cher" without realising. Kyle decided he must have been over him.

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He must have been, otherwise he wouldn't have been letting this new guy touch him in such a way that only those two had. His hair was dark - Kyle realised he obviously had a thing for brunettes - but it wasn't soft and shiny like Stan's, nor dirty and unruly like Christophe's. It was just dark, boring and straight. His eyes were dark too, but not light and honest like Stan's or dark and penetrating like Christophe's. They were just boring, bland, brown. The body pressed close to him wasn't skinny and pale like Stan's, nor muscular and tanned like Christophe's - it was averagely thin, white with a healthy colour to it. As he moved away from Kyle's mouth, he smiled at him for a brief moment - he wasn't known for smiling, but it was unconventional. Honest. It didn't last long before that mouth was soon devouring the Jew's neck in kisses and bites. The hands on him weren't warm like Christophe's or Stan's; they were cool against his skin making their way to the band of his underwear. He was so similar to his previous boyfriends, yet different in small ways.

"_Broflovski, you look good like that, you know." _The voice was monotone and husky - he'd grown out of his nasally stage years ago, and if he continued to smoke the way he did - he'd end up with the Frenchman's voice, only, American. Kyle then remembered whose hands were currently on him, who was making him moan into his shoulder. This wasn't Stan. This wasn't Christophe. This was Craig Tucker. Craig, who he'd never cared for. Craig, who he'd never really taken much notice of. Craig, who refused to get caught up in South Park's stupid adventures and who never went out of his way to cause trouble, but wouldn't do what he didn't want to. Craig, who wasn't involved with Kyle in any way. Craig, who wouldn't want to date Kyle, or use him for sex when he felt like it - this was a one time thing. Craig, who wasn't Stan, and wasn't Christophe. _But he was just good enough_.

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End file.
